Dark Flight
by Nateo
Summary: Chapter 8: The titans clash. A short one, but it gets the point across. R&R!
1. Of darkness and plans

Dark Flight Disclaimer: Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver and all concepts and ideas belong to Crystal Dynamics and Eidos Interactive. All characters not belonging to them belong to me, of course.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Sunlight spilled into the valley, lighting the Sarafan village of Taron, flowing into its streets and alleys. Here and there, a wooden window shutter would swing open, to greet the morning sun. In the middle of the village, on one of the smaller houses, a door suddenly slammed open, releasing an energetic inhabitant out onto the street. The door, which had began to swing shut of its own accord, was slammed open once more as another being followed the first. The first, a small boy only 12 years of age, with shoulder-length raven black hair and glacier-blue eyes, spun to face his companion, a boy of similar build and hair color, but with emerald green eyes.  
  
"Thorin!" The second cried to the first. "Thorin! You are always the Sarafan! It's my turn! You can be the Vampire."  
  
Thorin rolled his eyes and mock-sighed, crossing his arms in front of his slim chest. "Mikael, you know very well you have been the Sarafan the last two times we played. But if you wish it so, I cannot stop you, little brother."  
  
With Mikael grinning contentedly, Thorin drew himself up on to the balls of his feet, and hunched over slightly, wiggling his fingers in an imitation of the three-fingered 'hands' of Nosgoth's darker race. Mikael, scanning the ground quickly, snatched up a long stick and wielded it in the fashion of a Sarafan pike man, grimacing in righteous disgust.  
  
"Come here, human cattle, and meet your death." Thorin hissed, mimicking what he believed was a great impression of a brooding, hungry vampire.  
  
"No, scum. I will not embrace my own death, but I shall lead you to the end of your un-death!"  
  
Mikael mock-charged his brother, who hissed and spat. For about an hour they played this way, trading lines befitting the roles they chose, until finally, the end of the play came, the 'Scourge of Nosgoth' impaled upon the 'Grievously Wounded Nobleman's battered weapon. Thorin emitted the dark scream all Sarafan children had heard at least once in their lifetimes. Then falling to the ground in a fit of giggles, they switched roles and played again, and again, and again. All over the town, children played the same game or a variation of it, sometimes with the vampire being dispatched easily, sometimes with the original warrior falling beneath the foul creature's claws only to be avenged by another warrior, either played by a third child or the same child rising from 'death' to take on the new role, or some endlessly complex version, all replaying one event out of thousands that had been dramatized and censored by the actual Sarafan themselves, some of which watched their children play proudly. Never did a vampire ever completely win, as eventually some even bolder grief-wracked warrior would fell the evil beast. Thus were the children, in a tradition as old as the Sarafan themselves, prejudiced against the Vampires before they were old enough to even know of such a thing. The glory of the Sarafan was firmly planted in each child's heart, and the hate of the dark beings planted even deeper. Taron, one of many Sarafan villages spread along the base of a jagged mountain range, was no different from the others. Each night, hunters from the village would wind up the mountain trails, hunting any unlucky vampire Fledglings who crossed their paths. Then, they would return the next morning with vampire heads, trophies won in 'glorious' battle, and stake them outside their gates, warning off the bloodsuckers. The Sarafan were on the verge of completely destroying the vampire race, and something would have to be done quickly to save them.  
  
Raziel stood atop the mountain peak, cloven feet gripping the hard surface, his wings stretched out for balance. The sun's bright lays lit his pale features, but as an Adult and the leader of the Razielhim, one of the many vampire clans, sunlight no longer effected him. He glared down at the waking towns, brooding deeply. Only a year had passed since his clan moved from the marshy lowlands up into the mountains, a change of climate demanded by the clan-wide growing pains his people were experiencing. His dreadful evolution had come, closely followed by his strongest followers, and he knew one day soon he must face Kain, lord of all the vampires, and repent of his atrocious sin. But for now, his mind was elsewhere.  
  
Those Sarafan pigs. they hunt my people, my children, almost to the point of extinction. The Adults in the clan, weakened by their recent evolution, fall easily to Sarafan blades, and the new Fledglings, although already graced with wings when they first Convert, fall just as easily when their first pangs of the Hunger make them head-strong, He mused, running one 'finger' across his chin.  
  
"M'lord?" Raziel's reverie was suddenly interrupted by one of his commanders, Machel, the second to grow wings after his dark master. Muscle- bound and tall, the pale vampire had been a very strong Sarafan warrior before he lost his faith in the zealous glory of his people and offered his services to none other than Raziel himself.  
  
"Yes, Machel? I was simply watching the human settlements below. They're organizing another hunting party, for tonight."  
  
"I know, Lord Raziel. If I might, I wish to bring forward an idea the other commanders and I have thought up." The larger vampire shifted uncomfortably, his wings twitching. "I wonder if our own feeding parties could also include gathering some of the Humans for..." He swallowed. In his mind, this disagreed with him thoroughly. "...For a forced Conversion."  
  
Raziel blinked, staring wide-eyed at his underling. His amber eyes glinted in the sunlight. "Forced Conversion...? Only my brother Turel has ever done anything like that, and I do not like following his example."  
  
Machel sighed, "We have few choices, Lord Raziel. The Adult vampires, still weakened from their transformations, are slaughtered like dogs, while the Fledglings have much to learn, and their wings are frail and cannot support their weight in flight. I suggest we do something now, or the Razielhim will be wiped from the face of Nosgoth."  
  
Raziel nodded solemnly, his eyes saddened. "It was our way to wait for the Human cattle to come to us for the Conversion... but it looks as if we will have to follow in the Turelhim's footsteps."  
  
The two vampires spread their wings wide, and leaped from the rocky peak, gliding down to the Clan caverns on the plateau below.  
  
  
  
A/N: Well, the story unfolds. Please R&R, and I'll put up the 2nd and 3rd chapters. By the time this is published I'll have the 2nd chapter written, but I need at least 5 reviews before I start on the 3rd... I'd like to know if anyone has any interest so far. 


	2. Of wings and death

Dark Flight  
  
Disclaimer: As you know, LoK belongs to Eidos Interactive and Crystal Dynamics. The village of Taron and its inhabitants, and the original characters in the Razielhim clan belong to me. Ask politely if you'd like to borrow them. If you steal this, however, I eat you.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The Fledgling crouched eagerly atop a boulder, hands still holding their human shape splayed across the surface of the stone. The moon's pale light shadowed the young vampire, hiding him from his prey, who he watched, delicate bat-wings twitching in anticipation. He was only freshly converted, and had only gone through the Evolution once, which had given him his slightly awkward cloven feet, but left his hands untouched, and his eyes the rich brown of humanity. Here and there his skin was still the color and flush of a human's, which embarrassed him deeply, but the soft white color of his chosen race was starting to catch hold. A few more Evolutions, and he's almost be an Adult, he told himself. But his mind was quickly brought to the here and now as the clank of heavy armor and the mutter of voices reached his slightly pointed ears. A Sarafan swordsman rose over the hill, torch in one hand and a sword in the other. The fledgling instinctively hissed, bringing the armored head of the warrior quickly around.  
  
"Scum!" He shouted, rushing forward.  
  
"Cattle!" The vampire returned in a hiss, springing from his hiding place.  
  
The flash of a blade was the fledgling's only warning, and suddenly a sharp, fiery pain exploded from his midsection. Four feet of hard steel had slid like a knife through hot butter, impaling the writhing creature. Black blood, steaming and boiling, dripped from the wound, and the Sarafan warrior threw down his sword, sending the wounded creature sprawling. With a malicious grin hidden by his helmet's visor, he drew out a stake from his pouch and crept stealthily forward, still grinning. It would be the second- to-last expression he ever wore. His eyes shot wide open, jaw dropping in a soundless scream, as a cloven hand suddenly exploded through his breastplate, sending hot blood splattering across the ground.  
  
Machel grimaced, muttering a word or two in ancient magic words, and a stream of blood rose from the gaping wound and flowed into his mouth. He only took a portion of it, however, before redirecting it to the wounded fledgling's open mouth. As soon as the restoring liquid went down the young one's gullet, the wound in his abdomen began to close and seal, leaving only a scar darker than the white skin there.  
  
"What is your name, fledgling?" Machel asked, folding arms corded tightly with muscle across his chest.  
  
"F-Fraxis, s-sir..." The younger vampire stuttered, holding a hand to his stomach in remembrance of the frightening hole that had once been there.  
  
"Why did you leave your group, Fraxis? We told you younger ones to stick together." Machel twitched his wings irritably, looking at the smaller wings adorning the fledgling's back, taking note of how they twitched seemingly without Fraxis being aware of it, a habit of most new Razielhim vampires.  
  
"I was... so hungry sir..."  
  
"At the risk of your life, you attacked an experienced Sarafan warrior just so that--"  
  
Screams echoed from the base of the mountains, loud enough to be heard on the wind even without a vampire's amplified hearing. Machel spun around, peering down. Several small villages swarmed with pinpricks of light, but one village, Taron, was alight with fire. A dark, piercing Vampiric scream shattered the air, and Machel quickly made up his mind, spreading his wings wide and leaping from the plateau he and Fraxis had rested on. The latter vampire stared after his master, and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed his wingtips and hang-glided after Machel, employing the tactic taught to fledglings to give their wings at least some use until they were strong enough to fly with.  
  
Thorin screamed again as the fledgling approached, hands half-human and half-vampiric stretching out to grab him. The mottled colors of this one was more dominated by the characteristic pale white, but the effect was still disturbing. Suddenly, a Sarafan warrior, dripping blood, leaped up from where he had apparently pretended to be dead and drove a pike right through the vampire, who in turn, screaming and frothing, slashed out his attacker's throat. Both combatants fell to the ground, the human already dead, the vampire dying. Thorin, eyes wide with terror, ran as fast as his legs could carry him, rushing past vampires locked in combat with Sarafan warriors, vampires standing over fallen bodies and draining them of blood, and buildings burning like torches. Here and there, vampire fought vampire over a kill, not noticing the child plunging past them, tears streaming from his eyes. Finally, he reached his home, and stared, eyes wide, as Machel landed in front of him. The vampire glared at him for a moment, and then spun around to confront Thorin's father, a thickly muscled Sarafan warrior wielding two swords, who had tried to sneak up behind him. However, both stopped and stared, locked in place, as recognition dawned in their eyes. Thorin, confused and dazed, wondered why his father was so frozen in place.  
  
"Paeter ..." Machel gasped.  
  
"Michael...?" Paeter returned, eyes wide. "Michael, you... I thought you slaughtered by the vampires!" His gaze hardened. "But I see now... you are one of them. And doubtlessly no longer Michael."  
  
Machel's eyes filled with regret. "No... brother. I am Michael no longer."  
  
It seemed to happen in slow motion. Paeter rushed forward, screaming hoarsely and wildly slashing at his former kin. Machel simply side-stepped, and grabbed him by the neck from behind, cloven hands wrapping easily about his opponent's neck. Thorin, silently crying, watched as Machel, suddenly crying just as hard, quickly squeezed, snapping his brother's neck. Letting the body fall, he turned to his nephew, eyes filled with remorse.  
  
"Machel!" A bark echoed from above, and the vampire looked up to see another of his kind, flying overhand with an unconscious boy in his left hand. "Take a prisoner for the Conversion! We are leaving."  
  
Thorin gasped in horror as his uncle strode forward, raised a fist, and then... all was black.  
  
A/N: Well, chapter 2 is over with. Chapter 3 is brewing in my mind, but I need at least 5 constructive reviews, just to see if enough people are interested enough for me to bring the story out. I'm planning this to be a long, one, but we'll see... 


	3. Of clouds and rebirth

DARK FLIGHT  
  
CHAPTER 3  
  
Fraxis leaped over a boulder, planting his cloven feet squarely in the face of a human cattle-warrior, sending the armored scum sprawling with a crash. Reaching beneath the helm to the delicate flesh beneath, the fledgling tore out his victim's throat. Hot blood sprayed from the wound, and Fraxis lapped what he could up, already retreating. Like a dark cloud above him, the Adult vampires flew back to their mountainous sanctuary, and the other fledglings and he ran to keep up, stopping to knock the Sarafan out of their way. The whole plan was to spread chaos; the burning Taron was not his handiwork, but Fraxis felt he had helped all the same. Here and there, an unlucky young vampire fell to sword or pike, or even the new Glyph- casters who had shown up on the battlefield as reinforcements, though they were too late to do anything except take down any lingering young Clansmen. Fraxis' long black hair streamed out behind him as he ran, somewhat slower than usual: He had stopped here and there to grab armor off a fallen human, and a sword had found its way into his right hand, though how he got it he was still not quite sure. It was a little too wicked in design for any average soldier, and the blade was black. Whether the effect of soot form the fire or some new metal, it was too early to tell...  
  
The beat of wings filled Thorin's nightmares. A hundred times, a thousand times, the sickening pop of his noble father's neck snapping like a twig echoed again and again, bringing his mind to fever pitch and activity, although the boy remained unconscious. Where was his mother? His brother? Why had this dark figure, his...uncle, come and torn him away from solid ground? Consciousness flickered in and out, but reality and the dream world were the same. Filled with large, powerful wings, flapping slowly in the cold night sky. When was this to end?  
  
Raziel set down infront of his personal cavern, and turned to see his Clan landing outside their respective homes. Two thirds, with one or both arms full, headed for the Cathedral. Raziel smiled at the name; the huge cavern that their rock-smiths had made beautiful in an eerily dark way, the home for those who had not yet undergone their first Evolution after the conversion. He smiled, but there was not much else to smile about. In the first time in Razielhim's more...respectable history, the Clan was going to undertake the largest forced conversion since Vorador fell. It made him sick. Far from the monsters their Sarafan enemies made them out to be, most vampires were decent beings, with a sense of honor and a unique architectual style that made the very idea of wiping them out inconceivable. Raziel didn't know what he was in his past life; only the Grand Overlord, the All-Mighty Kain, held that secret...but Raziel didn't care. Let his past be a mystery: It was tradition for one to exchange one's human name for one vampiric in nature after the first Evolution, and life was considered to have been started over. He was afraid, however. Soon, he must leave his Clan and face Kain alone, face the punishment that was sure to come for having the nerve to evolve before his master. He had probably cursed his Clan, as well...but they were smart. They could fend for themselves. A sigh floated from his cavern; Iceabelle sleeping, most likely. Instead of disturbing her, he decided on another course and quietly glided from the ledge, down to the Cathedral. The human children and adolescents would need to be explained to, and who else but their soon-to- be leader to do so?  
  
A mourning cry like none heard before rose from the base of the mountains. The charred and blackened ruins of Taron crumbled behind the villagers, aimlessly wandering the area. The surviving Sarafan, in dark moods and brooding, watched as each mother, each peasant father, cried over their losses. In one night, the entire child population of Taron and several other towns had simply vanished. Pyres burned here and there to honor fallen warriors, while other Sarafan worked at dispatching any wounded vampires and fixing others to poles or impaling them on javelins, as a morbid warning to the invaders not to return. They never expected another attack. One officer, sitting atop a horse, suddenly fell from the blow of a heavy stone with a shout. Others whirled around to find tear-streaked peasant faces, the villagers, armed with torches and pitchforks, pikes, and here and there the clumsily-held sword. Another warrior fell beneath a heavy stone, hurled by a nearby laborer. A captain in gold plated armor danced his horse about, shouting over the cries of his men.  
  
"What, in all of Hell, is the meaning of this?!" He was answered by a pitchfork in the gut. While not damaging, he was knocked from his horse, and rolled to his feet.  
  
"Leave us, Sarafan dogs!" One angry villager shouted, waving a torch menacingly.  
  
"You were supposed to protect us, but now our children are gone and what do we have left? Bodies! Bodies and ashes!" A farmer screamed, red in the face with rage.  
  
"You dare suggest this was -our- fault?" A hulking Sarafan shouted back, but was answered with a rock, knocking him over in a crash of metal. Several pike-wielding vilagers rushed forward and slipped their weapons through chinks in the armor and held the body, dripping blood, aloft.  
  
"We outnumber you! Leave us in peace, and we will find our own way to deal with the vampires!" An older man roared, waving a thick quarter staff.  
  
It was, to say the least, a retreat. Under a hale of stones, the Sarafan made their graceless and battered retreat, leaving the surviving villagers to fend for themselves. Taron wasn't the only place this occurred; the Sarafan's days of vampire purging as a whole had finally come to an end across Nosgoth, but of course, the vampires didn't realize this yet, nor did some patches of Sarafan here and there. The empire had crumbled, and soon, the days of darkness would rise, and the mighty race of the vampires, though noble at first, would eventually begin to twist.  
  
Thorin's bloodshot eyes slowly cracked open. It was dark, and he was being carried. Odd, curving hallway flowed passed, and he looked up into the white face of his uncle, who stared down at him. They were at a brisk walking pace. Thorin knew better than to struggle; his end was coming soon. Eventually the hallway's cieling ascended into darkness as they entered a huge chamber. Vampires, holding prisoners or leading them by the hands, entered from other hallways. In the middle was a dias, atop which stood Lord Raziel. Thorin recognized him from description if not from ever seeing him before: The Sarafan talked about him, and often. In full court dress, with the Clan flag hanging from a shoulderplate on his right and metal straps criss-crossing his chest, he looked positively official, and the child felt a bit overwhelmed. They came to a stop, and Raziel, eyes filled with regret for some odd reason, looked them over. 'Picking which of us he will feed on, I suppose'...Thorin was already resigned to his fate. The fact that his brother, eyes wild and scared, stood a few yards away brought no comfort. Raziel spread his arms wide. The children, confused, watched silently, while some adolescents growled. Here and there, oddly, a teenage face was grinning, as if he or she knew something the others didn't and was happy for it.  
  
"Young ones..." The Lord of the Razielhim's voice echoed throughout the chamber. "Welcome...to your new home."  
  
The grinning teens only smiled wider, while here and there an astonished gasp rose. Thorin's was among them. Welcome? Was there not to be some sick, dark feast of their fresh blood? A hiss escaped from above him, and Thorin looked up to see Machel, wielding a wicked dagger stained black with his own blood, lower his forearm to his nephew's mouth. Vampiric fingers rubbed his throat, and at last he could give in no longer, swallowing the oddly cool black liquid. The taste was slightly stale and acidic instead of thick and metallic like human blood, as Thorin knew from all the times he had bitten his tongue on accident, or licked at a cut curiously, wondering what the vampires found so interesting in it. Distaste crinkled his features for a moment, until he must have drunk a cup or two of his uncle's own blood, when Machel raised his forearm and wrapped it in aged cloth. Thorin oddly found no desire to spit the residue out, and as he looked around the room, he realized the same process had happened to each child. Some of the teenagers even licked their lips.  
  
Raziel shook his head at the confusion on the majority of the children's faces. Soon, he must tell them he had just sealed their fates. What was more sickening to him was those who looked as if they expected it; they might have come to the vampires on their own, had the times allowed it.  
  
"You have tasted vampire blood, human children. Some of you know what will happen next: I take comfort in this, that you, at least, were maybe even hoping for it. What will follow, young cattle..." He paused, clearing his throat. "You adolescents will soon feel the need to be alone for a while...for how long, I cannot say. It varies from person to person. You children will remain here, but when you come of age, you will feel the same need. It is the need for change. You will become...vampires."  
  
A/N: Like it so far? I always pictured Nosgothian rebellious teenagers running away from home to become vampires, and from what I could gather from here and there, the drinking of vampire blood is how the change from human to the scum of Nosgoth is triggered. R&R, and Chapter 4 will be up soon. I'm going to wait until I get at least 15 reviews before I start on 5, however, but after that I'll know for sure whether I should devote my time to this, and won't require reviews to keep writing. Look for Chapter 4, and tell your...darker friends about this fic. I'm sure they'll enjoy it. 


	4. Desolation

CHAPTER 4  
  
One by one, the teens entered their long sleep, forming a sort of cocoon about them by a process mysterious and unknown even to the oldest vampires themselves. As for the children, they felt slow changes taking hold, altering them here and there, until they had almost dreaded the thought of returning to the human world. The years passed, and one by one they entered into their own sleep, leaving the Clan for the time being. Machel sat in front of his two nephews' cocoons like some sort of watch-dog, only moving to feed, only speaking when spoken to.  
  
Fraxis had once more Evolved, gaining adult sized wings and cloven hands, but still had the ugly, mottled skin and brown eyes, two traits he could do without. The sword he had claimed turned out to be an ancient vampire artifact, spanning back to when the vampires first felt the Hunger. The chief of Taron, a high-ranking Sarafan officer, had wielded it against his vampire foes, but it turned around and killed him, instead of being used against its makers. The artifact was held on a special pedestal in the middle of the Cathedral, always drawing a certain sense of awe from the vampires who passed by it. It was pure black, slightly resembling the infamous Soul Reaver in that the blade curved, but with each curve a jutting spike protruded, making the weapon heavy and awkward to wield. Its origins a mystery, it seemed to emit a dark aura, and Raziel himself proclaimed that it must be some sort of ceremonial weapon.  
  
Time dragged on, and Machel watched his only surviving kin, twisting and turning in their shells, growing and changing. Occasionally, Raziel stopped by for talk of new Razielhim court positions opened, and how the outside world was developing, but Machel couldn't care. Eventually, the once- adolescents emerged from their shells, greeting their new lives as vampires with cries of Hunger, pathetic mewlings that were quickly appeased. The younger children were still changing, however, when Raziel decided it was time for him to leave.  
  
"Why? Kain will kill you, Raziel ..." Icebelle, Raziel's mate, demanded. "In the end, he will simply strike you down with that accursed Soul Reaver." Her wings drooping, she brushed her waist-length white hair aside.  
  
Raziel sat in his personal cavern with his wife, shaking his head. He wore full court dress. "I will stay in Kain's palace for a while... hide my wings until I can be sure Lord Kain can accept them, me, and our Clan."  
  
Icebelle shook her head, a sad sigh escaping her black lips. "He won't, Raziel. Our only hope is to move the Clan once more, far from Kain's eyes and ears. Then, we can live in peace, and our children and our children's children can be happy. Can't you see?"  
  
Raziel shook his head again. "No, love... I cannot run from him. Eventually, he would find me, and the confrontation would be worse. I must face him now, or never."  
  
Icebelle's posture grew rigid, and she turned from him, wings stiff and unmoving.  
  
Raziel blinked, standing and approaching her, hands slightly outstretched. "Icebelle ..."  
  
She did not turn. "Leave, Raziel. Do not return. I suggest you give leadership of the Clan over to Machel; he is more level-headed than you."  
  
Raziel's arms fell, and he turned away. There would be no good-bye, no last embrace... he must leave now before the pain grew too intense. Silently, he walked outside, extended his wings, and flew away. In the cavern, Icebelle began to cry.  
  
Without Raziel to guide them, and Machel refusing the position of leader, the Razielhim spiraled into disunity. The other commanders led factions away from the main clans, and then others followed their example, until literally hundreds of smaller branches spread across the mountain range. Humanity changed its ways from fighting to fearing the vampires, worshiping them, sending a low priest or child out as an offering. But the race grew fierce; Flights of Razielhim vampires swooped down at night to carry women and children away, and slowly but surely, they began to change. Their once beautiful white skin grew dark and ridged, like a reptile's; Only the commanders and the unhatched fledglings seemed to retain their original look. Different dialects formed and evolved until finally, one Clan branch couldn't communicate with the other. Dissension was wide spread, with outcasts from one branch, now called Tribes, went from their original homes to settle in the new ones. Wings grew larger and more powerful, and limbs long and spider-like. Soon, the Razielhim became almost completely avian in nature, homes moving from carved caverns to jagged cliff-ledge aeries. Only the Cathedral remained unchanged.  
  
Machel, eyes sunken and muscles a great deal smaller, suddenly awoke to the sounds of cracking and chipping. The two cocoons before him were beginning to split. At first, Machel thought it was another fledgling cracking them open to cannibalize the contents, a trait that was becoming disturbingly more and more common. Indeed, the cocoons had remained dormant at least a century longer than they were supposed to, and Machel had almost been ready to give up on them. Hefting the heavy ax he had gotten into the habit of holding, he peered into the crack. Mewling rose to greet him, and suddenly Machel was alive with joy. Dipping a chalice into a vat of blood he had kept handy, he fed first his nephew Thorin and then Mikael, the one who had been named after Machel's human form. They arose, licking their lips, and Machel gasped in astonishment. They were twins, with the build of a human 15 years of age, with china-white skin, silver shoulder-length hair, and amber eyes. They were fully formed, the perfect version of the Old Razielhim vampires, and yet still fledgling size. They looked down at their cloven hands and feet, at their wings still damp from the preserving fluids inside their now-empty cocoons, and blinked, silently looking at their uncle in unison. Quickly, he handed them fledgling robes; coarse brown cloth that was made to shield them from the sun's harsh rays, though recently that was hardly necessary.  
  
"Uncle..." Thorin hissed, and blinked at hearing his deeper voice. "How long have we... slept?"  
  
Machel sighed. "See for yourself." Drawing the hoods of the robes over their heads for them, in case they were sensitive to the slightest amount of sunlight, he led them out of the main cavern of the Cathedral, and out onto a ledge. All three silently stared at the lands below. Where once had been blue skies, green fields, and sprawling villages, there was only--  
  
"Desolation..." Thorin whispered.  
  
A/N: Chapter 4 is over with. Once I get 15 reviews, I'll know for sure whether I should spend any more time on this. For those of you who read this, I hope you like it so far. Much more is planned. Tell your friends to R&R, and Chapter 5 is baking in the oven of my mind. 


	5. the Redeemer

CHAPTER 5  
  
Burning. Agony. Flaming spears roared through Raziel's ragged body as he dropped through the Abyss. Mad thoughts swam through his mind as he furiously fought the surging waters. It was too much. The acidic water tore at him, ripped his flesh away, melted his jaw, and stole his armor. It was unreal. He had no idea how long he had been falling, other than the pain was endless. Once more, the jagged teeth of insanity bit at him, making him replay the horrible mistakes he had made, one by one.  
  
Raziel was in the throne room, standing with his brothers as a traitor was brought forward. How smug they were, staring down at this inferior vampire, as if they were dark gods. Instead of hanging his flag off one shoulder, like his brothers, he had it wrapped around his wings, to hide them. Turel turned to speak to him, and Raziel, startled, tried to flap his wings, creating a bulge underneath his wrappings. His brother gave him an odd stare-  
  
Raziel was kneeling before Kain. He had found a way to fold his wings very tight and drape a cloth over them like a cloak, disguising them even further. Kain was speaking, but Raziel couldn't hear him; the pain from a cramp in his left wing was too great. A human slave passed by, and accidentally brushed against it. With a roar of pain, Raziel spun around and tore out the human's throat, Kain staring at him in surprise. Raziel blinked, tried to explain-  
  
Under the cover of darkness, Raziel swooped down upon a human, quickly snapping its neck and dragging the body into the air. As he fed, he suddenly heard a cry and turned. Duma stood on a balcony, staring wide-eyed at him. Raziel tried to hide himself-  
  
On and on the mistakes went, all because of his accursed wings. They were his doom, and the doom of his Clan, he was certain. And then, that horrible day when Kain called his brothers and him into the throne room for a short 'talk' and forced him to reveal his wings. And then, the Lake of the Dead rose to meet him. and this agony. Raziel's mind wandered back briefly to happier times, and a sane thought forced its way in: What has happened to my Clan?  
  
Machel struggled against the stone that tightly held the vampiric blade in the middle of the Cathedral, but in his weakened state he was having no luck. Thorin and Mikael, exchanging their fledgling robes for discarded armor and clothing, looked at him curiously. After a few more tugs, Machel let go, but stared at the blade hungrily. A feverish light shone in his eyes, and he walked around to the other side of the pedestal, tugging and tugging all over again.  
  
"Uncle.?" Mikael inquired, walking over to the struggling older vampire.  
  
"Must. get the Redeemer." He muttered, pulling with all his might.  
  
Mikael silently gestured to his brother, and with his aide, helped Machel free the dark blade from its stony sheath. Machel, grinning with an odd and sudden glee, rushed forward and plunged the blade into a vat of blood. Immediately, his more-or-less wiry frame began to fill out like a balloon: his muscles gained their former mass, and he grew and inch or two. Finally, the hollow look to his face disappeared, and once more his bold features stood out once more.  
  
"Ah, how good it feels to be full again..." He sighed, and sheathed the wicked blade in a wide scabbard.  
  
Thorin stared in open amazement. His brother, gathering a quiver of arrows and a crossbow, stopped in his work to gaze in admiration.  
  
"Uncle... what is that sword? Your former glory is back again. Is it a relic of ancient gods or demons, to hold that power?" Thorin gasped, eyes glinting in the faint light.  
  
Machel shook his head, rubbing the hilt fondly with one clawed hand. "It is a weapon forged by ancient vampires, back when the great Janos Audron was still a fledgling. It is vampiric in nature. When submerged in human blood, it feeds its wielder ten times the amount it absorbs. It is if I had fed on a whole family of humans, rather than the blood of just one." He grinned, a strange light entering his eyes.  
  
"How do you know this, Uncle?" Mikael asked, testing the string on the crossbow he had so recently gained.  
  
"It told me." Was the simple, cryptic reply.  
  
A/N: I know this one took a long time, but the next few shouldn't. Look for 6, 7 and 8, coming soon! 


	6. Of quests and ambition

DARK FLIGHT  
  
A/N: Wow. I never thought I'd be coming back to this story...ever. But there's nothing else to write. I try to start on other projects, but...this one just clouds my mind. I need to finish this story! 0.0;;  
  
Anyway. Woo! Hope my fans aren't gone.  
  
* * *  
  
CHAPTER 6  
  
The thick laughter echoed eerily off the stone walls of the oddly named palace, but no one received it with more annoyance hidden behind their returning grin than Karine. The almost impossibly beautiful vampiress, her golden eyes gleaming in the flickering torchlight, let her eyes wander over her rival. She smirked at him, his once-beautiful skin had grown gray and scaled...blemishing his image. He had forgotten the Trick. She, however, had retained her beauty with pride...her soft, bone-white skin and her thick, luxurious hair that fell to her waist, accenting her soft curves, and yet made more dominating by the presence of her yellowed wings...smaller than those of her brood. Her legs crossed, she allowed a smile to flicker across her bloodless lips, assuring the vampire before her that she was amused by his joke. But nothing could be farther from the truth. She was obsessed with her people's old ways, and her dress showed it; the most exquisite of those the glory days of the Razielhim had produced.  
  
Burbor was just the opposite. He had allowed his wings to grow to the massive proportion his sons and daughters had gained, allowed his soft skin to grow thick and armored in what he thought were the places that needed the most protection. He was ugly, Karine decided, and with nothing but the unattractive around her, she despised him all the more for it. He was drunk, as well, only the finest wines taken from the Humans were allowed in Karine's court, and only those were enough to intoxicate the barbaric tribal leader.  
  
"Another toast...to the great heritage of our people! The on'... Th' awn, the only Vamps to take to the skies!" He demanded, thrusting his goblet forward. Some of the foul liquid sloshed over the edge, ruining whatever sparse clothing he was wearing. Not that he looked as if he cared.  
  
Karine drew the hem of her dress back in distaste, hoping to avoid staining the fabric...though it did reveal a good portion of her pale leg. The sudden smile on the male's face made her groan inwardly once more. But she pressed the rim of her goblet against her lips anyway, if only to make him believe she was as drunk as he.  
  
"To Th'...the union of our tribes!" He shouted noisily, waving his goblet about him. More of the black drink spilled over him, not that he noticed. Karine sighed. She had already tired of putting up with this odiferous excuse for a vampire. Which was good, she supposed...it would not help her any had she become attracted to this man.  
  
"Fraxis!" She suddenly exclaimed, startling Burbor into dropping his goblet. She snarled to herself...another mess on what was once a perfectly good floor. "Fraxis! Help the good man."  
  
The giant Razielhim vampire gracefully stepped into the flickering light, a deadly gleam in his slit reptilian eyes. He was fully evolved, and yet more than that. A monster. While others among the Razielhim stopped at head ridges, scales, longer limbs and gigantic wings...Fraxis had grown in stature. His scaled were black, reflecting the light oddly. And the ridges were menacing spikes. A genetic oddity. And Karine's favorite...for, except for the eyes, his face was pale white, and had the look of the Old Razielhim. Her perfect bodyguard and assassin.  
  
Without a word, the giant grabbed the suddenly sober male around the neck. With a slight pop and crackle of cartilage, dark blood gushed from the wound. An odd light gleamed in his eye as with his free hand, he grabbed the nearest torch, and non-chalantly set flame to the enraged, breathless tribe leader. And then he let go.  
  
Karine grinned. For some odd reason, it was always a thrill to watch Fraxis work...especially when he killed her rivals. It took her breath away. The living torch, screaming wordlessly, fell flat on his face, and slowly dissolved into ash...but Karine could care less. Stepping over the remains, she traced a finger down the broad, scaly chest.  
  
"Well done, Fraxis." She murmured, golden eyes meeting his red.  
  
"Thank you, my Lady..." He replied, his oddly handsome features, framed by black scales, twisted into a grin.  
  
------------  
  
Another gigantic vampire dropped to the ground, struggling against the bolt that had suddenly bloomed from his chest, spraying black blood in every direction. With a wordless shriek, he dropped from the sky, his wings useless without the strength to work them...towards the rapidly growing figures below.  
  
Thorin backed away, flinching in disgust as his uncle carelessly lopped off the fallen creature's head. Whether he was making sure the pitiful thing was truly dead, or for some other reason, the young boy was not sure, but this was the sixth one they had dispatched...and Machel had a gleam in his eye every time. Mikael seemed to be going along with it, not really appearing to care, casually reloading another deadly bolt into his crossbow...but Thorin could not help but feel soiled.  
  
"Tell me again, Uncle. Why are we doing this?" Both the relative in question and his twin brother stared at him, as if he were mad.  
  
An odd grin played across Machel's face. "These creatures are not vampires, Thorin. The Razielhim have fallen from their former glory, and it is our job to eradicate them. They may have 'Evolved', and yet we have found we are their superiors in grace, appearance, strength, and intelligence. It is the survival of the fittest."  
  
"Just go along with it, Thorin...and please, brother. You haven't fired a single shot, and I've been taking these brutes out of the sky all day." His brother muttered out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Thorin drew back slightly, appalled. They had only traveled a few hours from the Cathedral...and yet there was a distinct change. Machel had grown more and more zealous in this sudden quest, and Mikael was content to follow. And yet, there was something wrong with this.  
  
Thorin's mind drifted back to a time, eons ago, when he and his brother had played carefree on the streets, playing, taking turns at being the noble Humans. But when the vampires had taken him and his sibling, he had learned that they truly were not the scum of Nosgoth. Well, most of them anyway. He was taught to trust his Clan, to distrust Humans...and to try and fellowship those of the other Vampire Clans. It had been Raziel's great plan...before their great leader had realized that their particular evolution would not be taken well. But killing these vampires of his own Clan, no matter how bestial they had become...it went against the strong, almost-family bonds that he had been taught kept them all away from each other's throats.  
  
--------  
  
The Rahabhim. Like their brothers, they too had evolved, but theirs had worked to their greatest advantage. None of the others dared touch them, for their domain was that of the water. Next to those wounds caused by flame and those by impaling, water was one of the most lethal weapons against the vampires.  
  
And like the Razielhim, and the Turelhim, they had been the most noble of the Clans. Turel's children had split apart, to roam the empty lands and to guard well-hidden secrets...while Raziel's had not been seen since his apparent death. And the Rahabhim had retreated to the waters.  
  
But it was not the entire Clan in general that we speak of. No, instead, it was a young fledgling, still unaccustomed to life as an amphibian vampire. She was the most beautiful of her people, the pride of Lord Rahab, and yet she hated it. Clara had been her Human name, and Clara was the name she kept, despite her brothers and sisters attempts to change it. With a streamlined form, curvaceous and yet not revealing, gray skin that was soft and yet thick, and a head that curved back into a strong flipper, she was best suited to life on land and in the water...her black eyes holding a gleam that the others did not possess. And it was this adaptability that led her to spend more of her time upon dry ground, to wander to the very boundaries of their home. To finally succeed where the others had failed.  
  
To find the Razielhim.  
  
* A/N: Wow! I never thought I'd get this out, and yet here it is! I am so very sorry for keeping you people waiting, and I hope DF has not lost what attracted all of you in the first place.  
  
Wow, Fraxis is the big man on campus now, and his appearance is quite different from his kin. What could this mean? Well, I'll tell you. I've introduced two new characters, Karine and Clara, and yet what point do they have? What secrets do they hold? Well, I'll tell you. Thorin is quite the noble little fellow, and yet Machel and Mikael seem content to play vampire slayer. Why? I'll tell you.  
  
When?! Later. Heh, heh, heh. 


	7. Titans

CHAPTER 7  
  
A/N: Hmmm...ff.net seems to be hiding this fic. Oh well. By the way, I apologize the odd way the last few chapters look...Word keeps formatting my stuff so that ff.net can't read it, making it look as if random periods are placed all over, when actually they should look like this '...'. Strange. Anyway, I was able to turn off the formatting, so that should no longer be a problem. I'll keep writing, and hopefully not all of my fans have left!  
  
-----------------  
  
Machel hungrily thrust the black tip of the Redeemer deep into the scaled chest of his adversary, his eyes shining in ecstasy as the Razielhim deflated like pierced balloon. To Thorin's eyes, the blade seemed to...glow. Odd indeed, and more so how crazed his uncle was becoming. But maybe the light in his eyes was not insanity. Maybe his uncle was right. The Razielhim did not truly look like vampires any longer...more like a mockery of their former selves. A dark shriek interrupted his thoughts as Mikael fired another bolt, another creature of the skies falling. With an expert flick of the wrist, Machel brought the blade up, and was suddenly staggering under the weight as the beast found himself impaled upon the blade, writhing and screaming. Black blood splattered over Machel's smooth features, staining his lips...and yet the older vampire was quick to lick the droplets up, almost savoring the taste.  
  
Thorin shook his head. No, there was something wrong here. His thoughts were disrupted once more as he picked up a new scent...one other than their former kin. Head whipping around, he stared in shock.  
  
From what had appeared moments before to be simply a solid rock wall, a vampire was emerging. But it was not Razielhim. The word hovered enticingly on Thorin's tongue, ready to sound the alarm. She--for it was most definitely female--looked strangely familiar...like he had seen her kind before, though this was not possible. His gaze met hers, and her own optics widened, black orbs glittering in the light, shocked by his notice as much as by his appearance.  
  
***  
  
Clara emerged from the tight fit of her favorite trail...but immediately noticed something was different. Shrunken, skeletal corpses littered the ground...but they were not human, nor were they of any Vampire clan she had ever seen before. Then she heard the sharp intake of breath, her ears as keen above the surface as below...and met eyes with him.  
  
A chill spread throughout her body, their gazes locking. He looked like one of the Old Vampires...nay, like Raziel himself had been described, before his execution. Bringing a hand that was mostly fin to her soft lips, she hushed the man, creeping back into the hole she had emerged from. Any moment, she expected the young one to alarm his brethren...but he remained blessedly silent.  
  
Silently, retracing her steps, she made her way towards the water once more, fear chilling her bones.  
  
**  
  
Fraxis powered his way into the sky, dark wings forcing the air beneath him, willing himself upwards to escape the earth's clutches. It was difficult for him to become airborne, but as he had been told, it was mostly because of his giant frame.  
  
And yet, though the struggle was tiring, he enjoyed taking flight...to get away from the concerns, the lies, and the intrigue...to get away from...that woman.  
  
He was still not sure what he thought of Karine. She was devious, manipulative, and intelligent...possessing charm, a quick tongue, and a sharp eye...and though these were the qualities that kept their race alive, he despised her. But she found some sort of attraction to him...otherwise, he would have been dead long ago. Technically, he could challenge her in mortal combat to wrest the position of tribal leader away from her...and she knew this. She could have him killed...thrown into the waters of the nearby lake, wings and limbs tied to prevent his escape. The tribes, both her original and the ones she had come to conquer, loved her.  
  
How ironic it was that he was her bodyguard...that he could kill her with a flick of his wrist, and yet he was to prevent others from doing so. It was strange--  
  
The thought did not finish. In the sudden instant he was given to react, he performed a mid-air barrel roll to avoid the black arrow that would have permanently ended his worries...unlike the brief respite flying gave to him. With an angry scowl, he focused downwards, wary and waiting for another attack.  
  
"The human Vampire Hunters are supposed to be dead, or driven away..." He spoke out loud to himself, words carried away by the harsh winds. And yet he could see several small specks down there, wearing armor and wielding various weapons...another arrow narrowly missed his pointed ear, bringing his thoughts to the here and now. If he were to stay alive, he must bring the battle to them...  
  
**  
  
Mikael cursed loudly as the third bolt missed the gigantic black thing completely. He was starting to wonder if this creature was, indeed, a Razielhim. The others had fallen so easily, and yet this...thing...was putting up quite a fight.  
  
Machel held his ground, a gleam in his eye as he drew the Redeemer up into a defensive position...but his blood lusty grin slowly began to fade as, time and time again, the bolts missed the target completely.  
  
"Fool! Aim for his black heart!" He exclaimed, eyes narrowing. "I'm trying, Uncle...but the bloody thing keeps moving." Came the frustrated reply.  
  
Thorin could only look on in shock. They made it sound as if they were out hunting...ducks, or other such creatures of the air, when in reality it was their kin who fell, to die and be drained like cursed trophies!  
  
"If you cannot bring yourself to shoot any more of these foul things, nephew...I will take the battle to it, instead!" Machel shouted, eyes glazed over in some sort of crazed anger. With an impressive cloud of dust, Machel finally extended his wings and launched himself into the air, just as his opponent started to dive downwards.  
  
The twins could only stare in awe. Their prey had become a competitor, and a fierce one at that...claws met blade, and the three Old Razielhim truly looked astonished as, for once...their victim seemed able to hold his own.  
  
* * *  
  
A/N: Aerial battle coming up between two of the greatest living Razielhim! R&R, and look for Chapter 8! 


	8. The Battle

DARK FLIGHT  
  
A/N: Hmm. Another chapter up and out in the open. So far, only one of my original four or five sincere fans have returned (Thank you for the support, Kittie), though I do hope that, much like lost sheep, they shall wander back into the comforting arms of this fic when the world becomes much too cold. Ahem. Anyway, on to the fic!  
  
--  
  
A thick, cloven foot slammed against his abdomen, catching Machel quite by surprise as his swing just barely missed the large wing that had been his target. At a loss, gasping for the air that was so forcefully removed from him, he quickly put his own wings to good use, speeding away from his foe. Bringing the wicked blade up once more, he waited patiently. It was his opponent's turn to attack.  
  
Fraxis looked his enemy over once more. "An Old One, and yet not a tribal leader, you aren't..." he hissed, reptilian eyes narrowing in disgust. This fellow was just as large as he was; quite unusual between the Razielhim, and wearing black armor forged back when the Clan was still young. His pale flesh would need that kind of protection, indeed...Fraxis had allowed his own skin to harden and turn to scale for just this reason. The Old One was at a disadvantage, in their current arena...with his larger wings, Fraxis believed he could outmaneuver this man without much trouble. But it was that accursed blade...he had seen it once before.  
  
He shrugged. It did not matter, and if he did not act now, his opponent would probably try some tricky move with that horrible weapon. With a powerful sequence of flaps, Fraxis burst forward, bringing his claws to rend a few holes in this creature.  
  
He was destined to be disappointed, however. Machel brought the Redeemer up, easily blocking the claws and bringing the blade 'round to slash downwards at his foe. But the other vampire had not been idly waiting; though quite an impressive weapon, the magical blade was awkward in battle and heavy, giving his enemy far more time to react. Fraxis had already brought his free set of claws up into an arcing swing and caught the blade. He made as if to kick Machel again, but after his focus was one the incoming foot, wrenched the weapon free and tossed it to the ground. This battle was quickly becoming boring...should this foe not be skilled in weaponless combat, Fraxis would easily dispatch him all the same.  
  
Mikael shrieked as he suddenly found the Redeemer protruding from his hip; black blood gushed from the deep wound, and the dark metal simply drew it in and absorbed it. Thorin was unable to do anything but simply stare in a sort of horrified fascination as his twin began to shrivel and die right before him. He would not touch the cursed sword; he had seen what it had done to his uncle...and yet, he wanted to save his sibling as quickly as he could. And yet, torn as he was, he could do nothing but watch. His indecision would ultimately prove to be his brother's downfall.  
  
**  
  
Karine idly twisted a strand of bone-white hair round her first claw, scowling in frustration. Fraxis had gone on his regular afternoon flight, and with the formalities of putting the new Tribe, so unfortunately deprived of its old leader, firmly under her control already over and done with...she found herself bored. She kept no court; staring at the brutish countenances of her people all day long would likely give her a headache. And so, there was simply nothing to do. Slowly getting to her feet, she strolled over to the golden pan a few feet from her "throne". An intricate piece of work, really...made from the bones of those she had had to bring her fist down upon. She ran two of her claws through the fine gray dust that rested in a pile inside the golden pan. A small laugh escaped her, echoed through her chambers. Such an ordinary thing, the golden pan...but the dust it contained, now that was another story. In reality, it was ash...ash so old, it had crumbled even to this fine stuff.  
  
She had started to trace an image into the layer...a face, she supposed...when one of her guards burst into her rooms, breathing heavily in fright. Thankfully, it was the female...the slightly curvaceous shape told her that. All of the males under her knew the consequences of entering her chambers without her permission.  
  
"Lady Karine..." She hissed, eyes wide with alarm. "Sir Fraxis is fighting someone...an Old One!"  
  
Ash forgotten, Karine followed the guard out of the twisting cavern and into the light.  
  
**  
  
Pain surged through the larger vampire as the white claws of his opponent scored bloody gashes across his face. With a roar, he grabbed the retreating hand by the wrist and flipped the smaller Old One over his head, taking the air from his wing. A foot planted firmly in his back sent the pale vampire dropping like a stone, but it was not long before he spread his wings wide to slow his descent.  
  
Thorin watched the two titans struggle with a sort of growing anxiety. He had seen the growing gathering of vampires just outside the mountains before him, and they seemed just as worried as he. There was a great excitement going through them...someone was pushing their way through. Squinting his eyes, Thorin made out white hair, and pale skin...an Old One like them!  
  
** A/N: Ok, ok...so this was a short one. But I needed to post before my "fans" believed me dead again, curse it all! My creative juices are slightly congealed, right now...so the wait might be another long one. Don't worry, though: I hope to maintain the special something that drew you all here in the first place. Keep reading! 


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